


The Loneliest Number

by GreenSaplingGrace



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [4]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Barret Goes Into Dad Mode, Cloud Strife Has Mental Health Issues, Cloud Strife Needs a Hug, Cloud Strife Whump, Comfort, Crying, Dad Barret Wallace, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Gender Identity, Hurt/Comfort, POV Cloud Strife, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fill, Protective Barret Wallace, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Soft Barret Wallace, Soft Cloud Strife, Touch-Starved, Trans Barret Wallace, Trans Cloud Strife, Tumblr Prompt, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24579487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenSaplingGrace/pseuds/GreenSaplingGrace
Summary: Barret discovers that he and Cloud have something in common, and decides to take action before Cloud hurts himself.
Relationships: Cloud Strife & Barret Wallace
Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759225
Comments: 20
Kudos: 193





	The Loneliest Number

**Author's Note:**

> see the endnotes for the trigger warning and the author's note
> 
> Prompt: Trans!Cloud. That was all, so I took it and I ran with it lol

Removing the bandages is almost as bad as putting them back on. So Cloud has simply made a habit of never taking them off at all, aside from the routine cleaning and reapplication of new ones. Yet even then it’s always quick. Always short and panicked and filled with the mind numbing need to _not look down_ and to think about _anything_ else until it’s all over and he can safely go back to ignoring it. Putting aside the growing pain and occasional difficulties breathing is a small sacrifice to pay if it means he doesn't have to change his bandages again too soon.

It’s a good plan; a solid plan - or it _was_ one. Right up until it wasn’t. Right up until he’d been surrounded on five sides by the enemy and hammered with bullets, chest flaring and lungs constricting. Doubled over and struggling to pull in air - to push through the sheer _agony_ \- as Barret hollered at him and the others dove out to drag him behind cover.

Right up until he’d almost gotten them all killed.

Cloud can still hear Barret’s furious tones in his head. The cold, steely silence afterwards that was filled to brimming with accusation and suspicion. He can still _feel_ the glare of judgement prickling against his skin even as the next day dawns. 

He sits on his bed and tries not to think too hard about it, focusing on the painstaking effort of peeling the bandages away. His eyes are wet but he tries to blink the tears away, breathing stilted as he winces with every tug and every shift. It feels like his ribs are coming apart - broken and shattered and digging into his lungs - and Cloud has to bite his lip against the sounds of pain that try to escape.

_He’d really fucked up this time._

He doubts he’s going to get paid after this.

The only thing worse than money burning a hole in his pocket is having no money at all, and Cloud has never felt the distinct absence of a steady income as strongly as he does in this very moment, with no food and no supplies and - most importantly - no more bandages.

_Could this week get any worse?_

The heavy, insistent pounding at his door tells him in no uncertain terms that it absolutely can, and if Cloud weren’t so hard up right now he’d probably curse the universe for putting him in this position. Hell, he should have cursed it ages ago for making him like this in the first place.

“Hey merc!” The person at the door shouts, and of course it’s Barret. He’d been the angriest about the whole fiasco. Simmering like a pot ready to explode for the entire two hours it had taken them to ride home.

Cloud wonders what the other man is going to do about it. He’s never seen Barret lay a hand on anybody who wasn’t the enemy, but he also knows that Barret doesn’t consider him anything but one.

“Merc!” Barret continues, the pounding never once letting up, “I know you’re in there!”

Cloud doesn’t answer, instead shuffling hurriedly about on the bed, heart rabbiting as he scrambles for a shirt. His bandages are only half finished but it doesn't even register amidst the chaos, Barret’s yells growing increasingly furious until they cease in one sudden, chilling stretch of silence.

Cloud barely has the time to get the cloth in his grasp before the door is slamming open, ricocheting off the wall and bouncing harmlessly against one of Barret’s broad shoulders as he pushes into the room.

Everything freezes. Cloud’s hands clench uselessly around his shirt, eyes wide and mouth dry, chest aching something fierce as Barret’s gaze immediately lands on the half done bandages. The other man stills as well when he sees them, a massive silhouette in the narrow, battered doorway, face falling at once into something thunderous.

“What the hell is this?” he demands loudly, and Cloud’s breath hitches at the tone, eyes burning.

“It’s none of your business,” he lets out in a rush, trying to sound stronger than he feels, “they’re just bandages.”

“It’s chest binding!” Barret barks, and his voice is so booming it has to be fury. Cloud’s mind is too blank to identify anything else - a white static filling his ears, pulse thready and weak.

“It doesn’t make a difference,” he tries, swallowing roughly.

“It makes all the difference! What the hell are you thinking?!

“Nothing’s _changed._ I’m not- I’m not different. I can still fight.”

“No, you can’t.”

A rush of anger has Cloud flushing all the way down to his navel, chest filling with a different kind of heat in the face of Barret’s implications. He whips to attention, mouth opening in a vicious retort, but before he can so much as speak to defend himself, Barret keeps going.

“Not with those bandages, and not with that positioning-” and it’s not at all what Cloud had expected, what he's used to and what he’s _prepared_ for- “This is beyond unsafe! No wonder you were staggering about like a blind man yesterday, do you have any idea how damaging this kind of binding can be?”

Cloud blinks dumbly, the wind taken from his sails in an instant. He pulls his shirt into his lap with numb fingers and he looks blankly up at the other man. “What?”

Barret actually hesitates at that, his own anger draining away to be replaced by a small frown. Then his whole face softens in a way that Cloud has never seen directed at him before, and he feels like his mind is going through fifty kinds of confusion trying to figure out what the _hell_ is going on.

“This your first time binding?”

Cloud grits his teeth. “I ain’t an _amateur,_ ” he lashes out viciously, “I’ve been doing this for years, so don’t go about acting like I don’t know a damn thing.”

For the first time since they’d met, Barret doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his face transforms into something contemplative, and Cloud doesn’t know whether he should be riling against the scrutiny or if he should keep protesting the implications that he’s a rookie when it comes to his own life, but he glowers all the same.

“You’ve been using medicine bandages specifically, Cloud?”

The use of his first name throws him for another loop, and he finds himself utterly wordless. Unsure whether he wants to admit to how desperate he’d been as a kid, scavenging for any scraps of stray cloth he could find and knotting up his old shirts into binders. Digging around for things to put in his pants and - in one thoughtless instance of true, sickening desperation - sticking a knife to the back of his throat in the hopes of making his voice deeper. 

The shame pushes at something he’d thought long buried, and he struggles to get the memories right, because he _knows_ it hadn’t stopped at Nibelheim. He knows it went beyond Tifa and dreams and practices with wooden swords in the chill of the mountain peaks.

For all the trouble he’d suffered at Nibelheim, things had been infinitely harder at Shinra. Because he’d had to hide it every moment of every day. Because his officers hadn’t _known._

_..._

_Had_ they known?

Cloud flinches away from the beginnings of a headache and focuses on his shirt, picking at the loose threads with fingers he forces to remain steady. 

This is a disaster. A bonafide, level four, miserable disaster, and not a single person in Sector 7 will ever hire him again once Barret spills the beans.

“How’s your breathing?” Barret breaks the silence, and Cloud barely resists the urge to jump, “does your chest hurt?”

Cloud avoids his eyes. “Maybe. It’s fine.”

“Gaia, kid, it’s not fine.” 

Cloud’s almost surprised the man hadn’t shouted this time around, but when he looks up again it’s to see a crease of worry between Barret’s brows. True, solid worry. Not hatred or judgement or disgust.

Just a gentleness, like the way he’d looked at Tifa when he returned home to see her. Or the way he’d spoken to Marlene after she’d run scared from Cloud’s presence. 

Cloud’s never made the mistake of assuming such a look would ever be directed at him, yet here they are. It's more than a bit disorienting - almost panic inducing - and he wonders if he's finally gone insane.

He’d thought not five minutes ago that Barret hated his guts and wanted to murder him in some back alley for almost getting the team killed. And hell, maybe he still feels that way. Maybe Cloud’s reading into things like he always does, unable to grasp the depth of emotions going on in the people around him.

He doesn’t know what to think anymore.

“Okay, you’re coming with me,” Barret decides, and Cloud scoffs at that, some of his indignation returning.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you need help, and I plan on giving it to you!”

Cloud scowls. “Am I getting paid?”

“No-you-what the hell is wrong with you?!” Cloud swallows past the sting of hurt at the words, hands gripping his shirt so tight they’re white from the pressure. He ducks his head to avoid Barret’s enthusiastically sweeping arm motion, and then keeps it ducked as Barret keeps speaking. “You ain’t gettin’ paid, alright?! What you’re getting is a damn health and safety lesson as well as some new clothes! Now get those bandages off and let’s move.”

Cloud’s heart skips a beat, throat closing off in a panic. “What?! No!” he gets out, “I don’t-I can’t- you-” 

He cuts himself off before he can embarrass himself further, heart still racing with the disorienting rise of fear, but Barret’s already reacted. Almost immediately, the flamboyant movements come to an abrupt stop, Barret’s restless energy dying out in a second.

Then Barret speaks; calm and soft as if he’s never been anything but. “Okay, we’ll take care of that at the store, then. No need to worry about it now.”

Cloud swallows chalk and feels weak, but he straightens until he’s standing and pulls the shirt on in one smooth motion, expertly ignoring his ribs’ screaming protests. Then he juts out his chin defiantly and looks up, meeting the startled openness of Barret’s eyes head on. It’s difficult to maintain his anger at the situation when there’s such sincerity there, but Cloud manages.

“What if I don’t want to go?” he challenges.

“Then you won’t.” Barret crosses his arms and levels a stare right back. “But I ain’t hirin’ you again until you’ve got this situation fixed. It’s a danger to you and everyone around you in this line of work.”

Cloud’s lips thin in reaction, but he keeps his tone cold and detached. “I can handle myself.”

“Yesterday proves otherwise.” Barret raises a hand to calm the defensive rise of Cloud’s shoulders, mouth snapping open for a response. “Look,” he soothes, “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. And I may not always like the way you do things, but even I can see that you’re good at your job. That hasn’t changed.”

“Then what-”

“Just come with me, alright? You’ll see what I’m talkin’ about, and if you don’t like it then you can leave.”

Cloud hesitates for only a moment longer, expression carefully neutral, before giving a small nod. He doesn’t say a thing more, afraid to reveal anything personal with the unexpectedly familiar turn in their conversation, but Barret doesn’t seem to mind. He merely responds with his own larger, much more energetic nod and heads for the door.

“Aight! Follow me, merc, and I might just teach you a thing or two.”

“I doubt it,” Cloud sighs, right on the heels of the other man.

Barret only chuckles in response, and soon they’re enveloped in a thick silence as they head down the streets of Sector 7. It isn’t as uncomfortable as Cloud’s silences with Barret usually are, and he’s almost tempted to speak while the other man’s demeanor is open and accepting. Yet it’s hard to form any words when his mind still feels drowned and uncertain, caught in some sort of hypnotic daze as he tries to figure out what’s going on and _why this is happening_.

Cloud feels like he’s dreaming.

Nobody has ever had such a reaction to him before. They’ve never been _accepting._ Even Tifa had been surprised as a kid, reluctant to interact with him normally for weeks afterward. Then when she had come back it had been awkward, avoidant conversation topics and the bumbling use of different pronouns. She’d been stilted and uncomfortable, but she’d tried and she’d cared, and for a long time that had been the best reaction he’d ever thought possible. Tifa _had_ eventually accepted him, after all. Unlike most others who learned the truth: filled with either disgust or mockery or suggestive, degrading leers.

Barret hadn’t been like any of those people, though, and he hadn’t done any of those things. What Cloud initially thought to be rejection had been anger...on Cloud’s behalf.

Maybe.

He’s still not so sure, but Barret has taken everything after the bandage revelation in stride. He’d even reacted positively to discovering what Cloud is, and Cloud just isn’t used to it. He certainly doesn’t know how to react to it or what to say.

He wishes Tifa was here.

At the same time, he’s glad she isn’t. Because he’s never before been alone with the man in a space that wasn’t riddled by the tensions of pure dislike or upcoming battle, and the comfortable air around them right now...it feels nice.

Cloud kind of likes Barret, to be honest. Even if the man is annoying and loud and much bigger than any person has a right to be. This respect and easy camaraderie feels _good._ This _understanding_ \- nobody has ever acted this way around Cloud in the past. It almost feels like the first kindlings of a friendship - or at the least a nicer acquaintanceship - and Cloud wouldn’t be...averse to learning more about Barret and maybe...maybe becoming closer. He’s never had many - or any - friends before.

Cloud doesn’t want Barret to get any ideas, though. He’s still in it for the money.

“Ha! Here we are!” Barret exclaims when they finally come to a stop in front of a small, well lit little shop. He gestures to it widely, as if to encompass all of it’s everything - whatever that may be - and then strides toward the entrance. “The best clothing store in the entire sector! Although, uh...don’t tell Mimi I said that.”

He looks back at Cloud at the words, wincing, but Cloud just shrugs. “We’ll see.”

“Ah, you’re the worst,” Barret grumbles, though it lacks the usual heat. He pushes open the door to a small chime and heads inside. “Come on then, let’s get you suited up.”

“I already have a suit.”

“Just get yo’ ass in here, merc!”

Cloud reluctantly follows after him, slipping through the already closing doorway and stepping lightly to Barret’s side. 

Instantly, he’s met by bright, fluorescent lights and a colorful expanse of clothing. Rack upon rack of skirts and shirts and dresses fill the store, with large, well lit displays of stunning dresses interspersed throughout. There’s a section in the back labelled ‘undergarments’ for men and women both, and that’s where Barret takes them.

Cloud isn’t sure he likes where this is headed.

“What’s going on?” he finally asks, unable to stay silent any longer, “that’s not-I won’t wear a bra.” The words feel heavy on his tongue, but Barret doesn’t even once pause in his approach, completely at ease with the situation.

“Not a bra, no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It takes an effort to keep his voice deep and chill instead of high and panicked, but Barret must sense something, because he finally slows down and turns to face Cloud.

“I ain’t lettin’ you run around in pain when there’s a nice, comfy alternative right here!” he says, indicating the section of the undergarments labeled ‘chest binding’ with a broad sweep of his gun prosthetic. The expression on his face is excited and expectant, as if he thinks Cloud is going to jump for joy at the sight, but Cloud’s brows merely furrow with even more confusion.

_What the hell is going on?_

“What…so they’re...modified bras?” Or shirts. All he knows is that they look tight and compact, made of a silken, thick material. Longer than a bra but shorter than a shirt, they almost appear to be a combination of training bras and crop tops. Definitely like nothing he’s ever seen or that he would _ever_ wear, and he wonders for what has to be the hundredth time why Barret has brought him here.

“No!” Barret protests. “They’re binders - for your chest. Here, come get a closer look.”

Cloud approaches, still somewhat stupefied, and lingers in front of the rack of binders until Barret gives in and pushes one into his hands.

“It goes on under your clothes,” the other man finally explains, watching as Cloud runs his hands over the soft fabric. Those words alone help to ease some of Cloud's worries, but he’s still wary. He’s not quite sure where this is going - if it’s even going anywhere at all.

“Why are you showing me this?” 

“Because I think you could use this for your situation.”

Something in him finally gives at that, splintering beneath the confusion and humiliation. Frustration pools rapidly through the cracks, and Cloud barely reigns in his initial burst of anger before he’s speaking in cold, clipped tones. “Use this for what? What is this place and what are these?! Why did you _bring me here?”_

“Because I know how you feel.”

“You don’t know shit about me!”

“I know enough! I’ve been exactly where you are, Cloud. I’m like you.”

Cloud shakes his head, blinking away the tears. “What?” _This isn’t what he’d expected or what he’d planned for and what is_ **_going on?!_**

_There are people like him?_

“No, you...you can’t be. I’m a freak. I’m a- I’m twisted and _wrong-”_ his voice breaks in a humiliating display of weakness, and he stutters through a choked off breath, struggling to breathe as the realization comes crashing down on him.

The only explanation is that Barret doesn’t _know._ That Cloud’s somehow tricked him into thinking Cloud is someone or something else. Normal like Barret; _human_ like him. Because if Barret did know what Cloud was he wouldn’t be saying these things or thinking they were the same. He wouldn’t be happy about it and he wouldn’t be doing _any_ of this.

Cloud feels like such a fucking _fool._ Why had he thought Barret accepted him? Why had he assumed Barret knew what was going on when Cloud hadn’t even taken a second to explain the situation to him. 

_Gaia what a fool - what a fool - what a_ **_damn -_ **

He’d made assumptions and now Barret thinks he understands but he _doesn’t._

“It’s not- I’m not-” he tries to keep his tone steady, but the desperation leaks through and even Cloud can hear the tears in his voice because now he has to explain - now he has to _lose this_ and _Gaia,_ he’s so _pathetic- he didn’t even like Barret anyway-_ “You don’t understand. You...you don’t _understand,_ because if you did you wouldn’t-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I-I tricked you, but I didn’t mean to. I’m not a man and I’m in the wrong body and my brain is _messed up_ but I don’t mean to be a freak. I don’t mean to be a freak I _swear._ ” The last word falls apart on a sob as the panic sets in, and finally Barret snaps.

"Enough!" he bellows, voice loud and hard as iron, “There ain’t nothing freakish about this. Nothing!” 

Cloud's heart stops at the tone - at the fact that there isn't a tinge of disgust to be heard. Hell, there isn’t even horror at the realization of Cloud’s _wrongness_ like he’d thought there would be once Barret learned the truth, and when Cloud risks a glance upward, chest still heaving with each strangled breath, it’s to see nothing but steely resolution in Barret’s eyes. No hatred in sight.

Unconsciously, he tightens his grip on the binder, pulling it closer to his stinging chest. The shudders still wrack his frame, but as the seconds tick by and Barret's firm support doesn't waver for so much as a millisecond, they slowly begin to subside.

“There's nothing wrong with _you,_ for that matter,” Barret goes on after what feels like years. Cloud almost expects a jab about his morals after he says it, but Barret merely stops talking again and gives him an intense, determined look, as if he’s trying to bore the fact into Cloud’s skull.

Cloud can only shake his head. He squeezes his eyes shut to block anymore tears that might try to escape, but they just keep falling despite everything.

“ _Gaia,_ kid, they’ve got you real messed up.”

“I’m not-I’m not messed up.” Which is a complete 180 from what he’d been saying five seconds ago, but the words are out before he has the chance to stop them.

Barret sighs. “I know.”

There’s a long stretch of silence after that, and Cloud occupies himself with inspecting the binder in his hands, stomach turning with the agonizing curdle of shame as he begins to calm down and return to his senses.

This isn’t how he’s supposed to be acting. Not in front of civilians and not in front of his employers and _especially_ not in front of Barret, who hates his guts and would probably have killed him ages ago for being a SOLDIER if it wasn’t for Tifa.

_What must he think of Cloud now?_

“I _do_ know, merc.”

Cloud swallows and doesn’t look up. “Know what?”

“What it’s like. I was born in the wrong body too, but I’m a man and I always have been.”

It’s difficult to wrap his mind around. _Other people_ \- people like him - who exist in the same world he does and who mean that he _isn’t alone._ It doesn’t seem possible - it _can’t_ be - but what Barret’s describing...he wouldn’t be able to say it unless he knows.

Maybe he does understand, after all. 

But _Barret,_ of all people. Cloud just can’t believe it. He’s so...he’s so...he’s everything Cloud wishes he could be. Confident and strong and _masculine._ There’s no way he’s broken or shameful. No way that he was once...that he’s _like-_

Cloud.

“The man who runs this store? His name is Damian,” Barret goes on, “he chose that name, same as I did. He’s had experience wearing shit like this, which is why it’s the best I’ve come across and the most accessible. It’s a real tight operation.”

Another person like him. Cloud opens his mouth to speak, a question on the tip of his tongue, but before he can another voice speaks up from behind.

“My ears are burning!” A man’s voice chimes out, “Barret, is that you?”

Cloud blinks in alarm and turns to see a tall, dark skinned man approach. He’s lithe and well muscled, dressed in a tight fitting, sleeveless shirt and long leather pants. The array of tattoos across his skin is impressive, but his demeanor is moreso. Confident yet casual as he comes to a stop beside them both, a massive smile revealing sharp white canines as he pushes his multicolored sunglasses up onto his dark hair.

The chuckle Barret gives the other man is more untroubled than Cloud’s heard since he first arrived at Seventh Heaven and met Marlene. Barret even seems to relax a fraction when Damian’s stormy gray eyes land on him. 

“Yeah,” Barret says, grinning and clapping Damian on the shoulder, “it’s been a while, but I’m back.”

“And with a friend.” Those gray eyes turn to Cloud next, but he doesn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable under the attention as he usually does. Still, he refrains from saying anything, observing the interaction carefully as he works to school his features.

As first impressions go, puffy red eyes and a wet face probably isn’t the best, but it’s certainly better than looking like a miserable mess in somebody else’s store. And...and this man might be like him.

Cloud doesn’t want to scare him off.

“This is Cloud, we’re just here to check out your binders.”

“Ah! The greatest adventure of them all. You’re in for a treat, my dearest newcomer. Binder shopping is always fun, of course, but mine are the absolute best! And let nobody tell you otherwise.” Damian inhales dramatically after he’s finished speaking, finally stopping to take a breath, and then launches right back into it. “If you’ve got your sizes, I can direct you to the ones that will fit, but I can always work off of an old one if that’s more comfortable for you!”

Cloud hesitates, lifting the one he already has in his hands. “I’ve already found one. Isn’t this enough?”

The dead silence in response gives Cloud the impression that it’s not.

Then Damian explodes, gasping as if he’s been struck and whirling to point at Barret accusingly. “Barret! You’ve brought me a baby!”

“Excuse me?!” Cloud immediately puffs up at the words. “I’m not a baby!” Barret laughs at that - the asshole - looking positively pleased with the direction this is going, and Cloud wants to bash his stupid head in.

“You are! My god, is this your first binder? Barret, what have you been doing to this boy? How could you let it get this far?”

“Don’t bring me into this! I only found out he was using bandages to bind about a half hour ago."

“Oh, you can’t be serious. That’s terrible!”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“Why didn’t you do something sooner?”

“This ain’t my fault, Damian! I didn’t even know he was trans before then.”

“You-”

“...trans?” 

Two heads swivel to face him at that, surprise etched across both, and it takes all of Cloud’s strength to remain composed under the combined force of their intensity.

“Oh my...I see,” Damian breathes, tension melting into something softer as he approaches, his fight with Barret all but forgotten. Not that Cloud had really appreciated the fight to begin with, considering they’d both been talking about him as if he wasn’t right there. “Well you’ve certainly got a lot to learn, but it’s nothing we haven’t covered before.”

“Right.” Cloud glances uneasily at Barret. “I don’t…are you...really like me?” He hates how small he sounds - how stupid. Hates how everything about this makes him feel as if he’s about to burst with joy and drown in confusion.

Hates how he doesn’t just _know._

Everything he’d ever thought - about himself as well as the people around him - has been a lie. It was _all_ a lie.

Damian doesn’t react badly, though. He only gives Cloud a warm smile, winking lightly, and says, “were you born in a different body; a body you knew wasn’t your own? Did you struggle your entire childhood with being referred to by the wrong pronouns and being called a girl when you knew in your heart that you weren’t? Did you work every day of your life to change yourself in ways you thought would never happen? Did you _ache_ to be someone else?”

“Yeah,” Cloud says, and his voice cracks again but he _doesn’t care_ because _Gaia it’s real._ _It’s all real._ He's not _alone._

“That’s called being trans. Transgender, if you want to get technical about it, and there’s a whole _slew_ of different identities out there, but right now we’re just going to focus on yours.”

“...so I’m not broken?”

“No! No. Gaia, no. You aren’t broken or- or a freak or a monster. What you’re feeling - what you _are_ \- is completely normal. Thousands of people all over the world feel the same. It’s _natural._ ”

Cloud doesn’t say anything after that, taking a while to process it all. He still has a hard time believing things, but it’s almost harder now to _not_ believe them when he’s got two people here who claim to feel the exact same why.

He’d never thought he would relate so much to Barret, of all people, and he briefly wonders if Barret’s upset about them having this in common. Did he bring Cloud here out of some sense of duty? Or does he really care?

“The binders are meant to be less constrictive,” Barret eventually speaks up, as if summoned by Cloud’s thoughts, and Cloud instantly hones in on the authoritative lilt to his tone. He sounds as if he’s giving a lesson, soothing and gentle and commanding all at once. Like a parent. 

Or a leader, Cloud supposes.

“Bindin’ with the bandages as you were doing is a surefire way to fuck up your ribs and your lungs as well as a shitton of other things. You’re lucky it was caught in time, otherwise your little merc gig would’ve been up before the season’s end.”

That’s daunting, but expected. Cloud had always known the bandages weren’t a good idea, he’d merely never had a better alternative.

He fingers the smooth fabric of the binder again, secretly admiring the bright purple and pink patterns. It’s pretty and he likes the design, but it really isn’t his style. He’s nervous about what Barret would say if it _were_ his style, though.

What if Cloud isn’t trans enough?

“The binder will do a better job of compressing your chest, too,” Damian picks up where Barret left off, “it will be less painful and show less, and it will also be significantly easier to remove and put on.”

“And it isn’t noticeable?” Cloud doesn’t want people to know. He doesn’t want to remind Tifa of his shortcomings anymore than he has to. He just wants it all _gone._ He wants it to be invisible.

“Not at all! We have some more flamboyant ones if you’re up for that, but a lot of these are meant to blend in with everyday life. Here, how about this!” Damian moves then, pushing closer into Cloud’s personal space and pulling a measuring tape from his pocket like that’s a normal thing for a person to just be carrying around. “I’ll take your measurements, and then you and Barret can go check out the binders. That sound good?”

“I-uh...yeah.” 

“Barret said you’ve been binding with bandages?” Damian asks. He moves forward and starts to work, pausing briefly to skim his fingers over the irregularities on Cloud’s chest.

“Yes.”

“Okay, well I know we’ve said it a dozen times before, but I need to be one hundred percent sure that you know that could seriously damage you. Possibly permanently, if you’re not careful.”

“I know.”

“Okay!” Damian snaps up his measuring tape, stepping back before Cloud can vibrate right out of his bones from the anxiety of someone being so near to him. He waves a dismissive hand and turns away. “I’ll be back soon. Have fun, boys!”

And then he’s gone. Out the door and into the backrooms before Cloud can say a word in response. He turns to give Barret a questioning look, but the man is already heading over to the other end of the binder display, chuckling in amusement.

“That’s Damian for ya,” Barret says, “He moves fast and he has a hard time focusing, but he means well and he cares a lot. World could use more people like him.”

Cloud nods.

The rack extends along the entire length of the far wall, so he puts some distance between him and Barret, skin still tingling from where he’d been touched. He feels tight and trapped, but with his gradual adjustment to the newly acquired space and air around him, the world starts to calm down again.

He gives the massive display of binders a once-over, and an array of blues nearby catches his eye. The darker tones are slightly more comforting than the vibrant purples, so he focuses on examining those instead of the others while Barret speaks beside him.

“I came here a while back. When I was younger and less used to this whole thing. Damian’s work instantly stood out to me. It was more comfortable and more supportive, and the material didn’t chafe or constrict the way bandages do. Don’t think I’d ever actually enjoyed wearing binders before then, but he made it more fun and inclusive - more satisfying. I felt proud to be who I am for the first time in my life after I left his store that day.”

It would be an understatement to say that Cloud is out of his depth, and he has to ask. “You don’t wear them anymore?”

“Don’t need to! Got surgery a couple years back and it was the best decision of my life - well, aside from Marlene, of course. I started on hormones before then, though. Been at it for what feels like decades.”

None of those words mean anything to Cloud. He avoids the mention of surgery with a ten foot pole, feeling nauseous even thinking about it, and runs his fingers along the display. A variety of fabrics catch against his callouses, but there seems to be a recurring theme in regards to what can be used to make the binders at all, because he quickly notices a pattern.

“When did you realize?” he eventually inquires, after Barret keeps silent for too long throughout his musings.

“Ah! When I was real young,” Barret responds. It's almost immediate, and it leaves Cloud wondering if Barret had been waiting for him to speak before he started up again. The thought doesn’t sit right, but Cloud doesn’t know how to voice it, so he simply doesn't. 

“At about seven - maybe eight - my parents talked to me about some of the things I’d been casually saying at the time. Things that I didn’t really know the meaning of. It made me realize that I’d been viewing myself as a man unintentionally, without even realizing I was doing so. That talk and my parents' support allowed me to come to terms with everything.” Barret sighs sadly, going silent for a moment, then, “I had it better than most.”

Cloud can't help but agree. He wonders what his life would have been like if he’d had another parent around. If he’d ever gotten to know his father or had a closer relationship with his mother. She’d tried to be around for him as much as she could, but life was hard and her job was a busy one, and she’d been desperate to put food on the table and pay off the bills. 

He’d never told her who he truly was.

“How long have _you_ known?” Barret asks into the quiet, and Cloud doesn’t really have to think about the answer.

“Always,” he says, and, “I don’t know,” because he doesn’t. There had never been a time when he thought he was anything but a boy, but there had been a time when he refused to acknowledge it.

There’s another silence after that. One that settles Cloud’s nerves and lets him take a closer look at his options. 

Binders; actual clothing just for people like him: more comfortable, better at hiding things, and less dangerous. It seems like a fairytale. Unattainable and inevitably, tragically disappointing. Meant to rip the rug right out from under him - disappearing the moment he truly starts to believe. Yet when Cloud picks out a dark, solid blue binder made of a silken material, it doesn’t disappear in a cloud of fairydust. Instead it falls into his hands and glides through his fingers. Light, thick material and a comforting weight, with no rough edges or sandpaper cotton or suffocating elastic bound around and around like a straightjacket.

Something eases in his chest when he holds it. Something that feels a lot less like dread and self hate and a lot more like hope.

Cloud has never wished more for something to be real.

“See one you like?” Cloud can’t resist jumping this time around, surprised at the volume of the voice behind him. He whirls around to see Damian standing a mere few feet behind him, and Cloud curses himself for not hearing the man's approach. 

“Um...maybe.” At Damian’s quirked brow he clears his throat. “It’s nice,” he offers pitifully.

Damian sighs in exaggerated offense and drops his sunglasses back onto his nose. “You’re a disaster, kid. You’re lucky I like you so much.”

“I’m not a kid.”

Damian doesn’t even reward that with a response. “Is this the only design you want?”

Cloud looks down at the one in his hands again. He really does like it. Hell, he can even imagine wearing it, and the thought alone makes his heart ache in a way he’d never thought possible, but - “how...how much do they cost?”

“The lowest I can go is 500 gil a piece.”

Cloud’s heart drops, hope evaporating in a second. “Oh.” 

He barely even has enough money to buy food at this point, let alone even _one_ of these things. _He can't afford it. Gaia, what had he **thought** was going to happen? _

Cloud's face heats with shame, and he feels utterly ridiculous now, thinking about how excited he’d been.

“I don’t…” he tries to get his throat to work, swallowing past the knot that’s formed, “I-”

And then a voice speaks and it's Barret, it's -

“I’ll take care of it.” 

Cloud exhales in a rush, eyes widening, and his body goes so weak that for a second he fears collapsing. “What?” he croaks, voice trapped behind the need to say _more_ but he can’t. He can’t do anything but try to regain control of his mind and his heart and his shaking, fisted hands.

“I’ll pay for the binder. And two more,” Barret says, and he looks at Cloud like he _cares,_ smiling slightly and eyes warm. Cloud shakes his head in denial, but Barret turns and nods to Damian. “Throw in some of those educational booklets, too. For free.”

“Sure thing, my friend.” Damian beams, racing over to the binder rack. He grabs a handful of the same color in a different size before dancing happily back over to the counters to check it all out, and if Cloud wasn’t still reeling from the shock he’d probably think the man needed to calm down.

“I don’t-” Cloud finally manages, “I can’t pay you back.”

“You don’t have to,” Barret tries to reassure, but he’s _wrong._

“Is this for the last job?” It’s the only thing that makes a lick of sense, yet when he asks it Barret only hums in the negative.

“No, you’re still getting paid for the last job.”

“I am?” That’s certainly news to Cloud, who’d been sure about a half hour ago that Barret was going to pay him in blood for how badly he’d fucked up.

“Yeah, merc. You did your job. Sure, things went sideways, but it wasn’t just you, and if I punished everybody who fucked up a little on missions then I wouldn’t have any team at all. Hell, I’d say you even did more than most, even with that shitshow at the end. Otherwise we’d’ve been dead before we got there.”

Cloud huffs, clenching at the fabric of the binder again. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“Yes, it does. Now stop arguing! I’m your boss and I consider this a down payment as well as an investment. You’ve done good work and you’re going to keep doing good work on the next mission.”

“The next mission?” 

“You got something in your ears, Strife?”

“No,” Cloud breathes, and it’s probably a testament to the state of his mind right now that he doesn’t have a sarcastic retort on hand, “I just...I thought…”

Barret doesn’t say anything for a while after that, and it gives Cloud some time to breathe. And with the time comes the realization that he has _binders_ now. Actual, real binders that won’t hurt him and that will help him. Chest coverings that he actually likes to look at and feel against his skin and _wear._

He doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or scream, but in the end all he ends up doing is crying. He turns away so Barret won’t see it, and he’s glad when the next topic Barret brings up is completely unrelated, although it doesn’t hit any less close to home.

“So why didn’t you tell me you were flat out broke?”

“It didn’t matter.”

“It does when my team members aren’t taking care of themselves.”

“I’m not a member of your team!” Okay, so maybe Cloud doesn’t like this topic after all. _Maybe_ he thinks this whole situation is ridiculous when this man fucking _hates his guts. Maybe_ he’s _tired_ and he’s tired of being _fucking_ **_tired_ ** _all the_ _ **goddamn time.**_

“I was wrong.”

The world screeches to a halt. “No- no you weren’t. I’m only in it for the money and I’m an ex-SOLDIER, you said-”

“I said some things that I shouldn’t have. It doesn’t matter what you’re in this for, as long as you work with me, up to and until you leave, you are on my team and deserving of my care.”

Cloud can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Is this because of what I am? Because that doesn’t change anything. _I_ haven’t changed. I’m still…” He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Cloud is a lot of things, and he hates every single one of them.

Barret’s expression pinches into an emotion Cloud can’t name, his mouth pulling down into a severe frown. “It ain’t because you’re trans, kid. It’s because I fucked up and I let my feelings get the better of me. As your leader and your...employer, I should never have treated you like that.”

Cloud swallows. _But I deserved it._

“If it’s any consolation,” Barret says, “I still think you’re an asshole and a selfish bastard.”

Coughing to cover up a laugh probably isn’t the most subtle move, but Cloud’s emotions are too much of a wreck to muster up much else. “And I still think you’re overbearing and annoying,” he huffs.

Barret doesn’t explode like he usually would, only nodding like he’d expected that. “You aren’t getting any special treatment cause you’re trans, okay? I don’t view you any different. I’m payin’ you for the job cause you did the job, and we agreed on a price. I’m paying for _this_ because I know what it’s like and I want to help. And I’m treatin’ you nicer because...well, you ain’t so bad once you get past the...everything else.”

“Thanks,” Cloud deadpans, but he can't deny that he feels lighter at the admission - more at ease.

“Welcome!” Barret begins to head over to the checkout, waving for Cloud to follow until he reluctantly trails behind the other man. “After this you can change into one of the binders if you want. The rooms in the back are there just for that purpose, so don’t worry about causin’ no trouble.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh huh. And then after that we can talk books! I don’t want you goin’ home with more questions than answers, so I’m gon’ tell you which ones you should read first, and you’re going to listen.”

Cloud sighs.

“Shut the hell up, merc. And then after that-”

“There’s more?”

“After _that,_ maybe we can talk about some of the other people in the community ‘round here that you can speak to.”

“A community? As in a whole group?” _All here in Midgar? That doesn’t seem possible. What are the chances?_

“You’re actin’ like we’re a rare breed, kid. Sure, not every trans person is exactly like us, some don’t even feel dysphoria, but they’re all apart of the community. Hell, there’s dozens in Sector 7 alone! The whole of Midgar? Probably hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” Cloud asks faintly.

Barret grins like it’s a challenge. “Oh yeah. Wanna know my guess for the entire world?” 

“No.”

“ _Thousands._ Tens of thousands.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Oh but it is!” Damian is the one to speak this time around, holding out a bulging bag of supplies as they approach. “I took the opportunity to put some other helpful tools in there as well, Cloud.”

“Uh…” Cloud takes it, peeking inside and getting a facefull of different pamphlets and colorful clothing articles and paper documents. “...thanks.” Then he sucks in a breath and glares back around at Barret. “Your plan is unusually thought out,” he accuses.

Barret shrugs shamelessly. “Yeah, well I gotta be prepared if my darling girl ever decides she needs my guidance! Ain’t no way I’m gonna leave her without the proper tools when I struggled so much as a kid.”

“But you said your parents helped.”

“There was only so much they could do. Small town couples like them never really travel a lot, and I was lucky they knew as much as they did.”

“My parents were like that, too,” Damian offers as he rings them up, “we had to do a lot of guesswork and research to reach the point where we understood. Luckily I had a head up on most in my situation, considering they’re both women.”

Neither of them asks about Cloud’s parents, and he’s glad for it, but he can’t help thinking about his mother’s weary eyes and chilling absences. He wonders what it would be like to have two parents who both care so much. 

He wonders if it would be coziness and sunshine and soft touches, instead of gnawing hunger and the drain of loneliness. He wonders if he wouldn’t be so miserable now, had she been there to hear what he was going through.

Then again, he isn’t so miserable now. A warmth is settling in his chest. It’s a steady, gradual process, but when he thinks about it he can feel it and he can almost taste it. Comfort and protection and guidance. _Safety._ Freedom.

His chest hurts on the inside. Past the tattered bandages and the bruised ribs. And it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind Tifa gives him in shining, startling bursts when he sees her. The kind that he hasn’t felt in _years._ Since deciding to leave his only friend and the only place he’d ever known. The kind of hurt he thought he’d never feel again. 

_Happiness._

Maybe Cloud will finally be able to fit in somewhere. Maybe he’ll be able to find a team and a _family -_ find _acceptance._

And Cloud thinks about everything that's happened today and wonders if maybe...maybe Barret wouldn’t mind him sticking around for just a bit longer, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: internalized transphobia, self hatred, derogatory language, self confidence/self esteem issues, references to self harm, transphobic language, unsafe binding practice, accidentally being outed by circumstance.
> 
> A/N  
> Proud trans dad Barret helping baby trans Cloud learn how to do it right. Brought to you by my own issues and also my need (and apparently an anon's need) for some trans!Cloud. I might do a Barret POV at some point, but for now the fic is complete.


End file.
